


Pon Klai

by theaeolist (orphan_account)



Series: Let Me Help You Unwind [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe-Massage Parlor, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fingering, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/theaeolist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pon Klai means "relaxation" in Thai.</p><p>or the one where Harry is really stressed and Louis is a masseur.</p><p>You know where this goes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pon Klai

**Author's Note:**

> A MASSIVE thanks to GothicBarbie for helping me edit this! She's AMAZING!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own One Direction and this is all apart of my (twisted) imagination

Harry was stressed.

The promotion at the office wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and he’s found himself neck deep in more paperwork than he’s ever dealt with in his life. He’s spending late nights at work, canceling plans with friends, his sex- life is non-existent, and he can’t help but think this is unfair. After all, he’s twenty, and he should be celebrating the prime of his life, not toiling away his existence in the dull grey offices surrounded by a maze of cubicles.

It was depressing.

So depressing, that his assistant had taken pity on him and cancelled all his appointments after lunch so that he could visit this glamorous massage parlor that, according to Liam, was the hottest spot in town. Word was that the masseur- he called himself something pretentious, like Yogi Tomlinson or something- was an absolute _god_ when it came to his hands, and all of his clients felt like they had been touched by an angel by the end of their appointment. Yogi Tomlinson’s apparently traveled all throughout the world, perfecting each style of therapy, lived in Asia for a number of years, has a Ph.D in physical therapy (so really he’s Dr. Yogi Tomlinson), and on top of all his impressive credentials, he has a yoga studio on the side.

Not that Harry was impressed. No, he just thought that his assistant was figuring out a way to squander the bonus he’d received along with his promotion, instead of putting it in the bank account like he’d intended. Because, fucking hell, for the rates Yogi Tomlinson demanded, Harry was pretty sure that the masseur would be using gold infused massage oil or exfoliating cream made with diamonds, because nothing- and Harry meant _nothing_ \- could justify such ludicrous hourly rates. And frankly, Harry was still a little hesitant to spend his afternoon getting felt up by an ancient, wrinkly man, who apparently held all the profound wisdom in the world.

But when he told his assistant as such, Liam just pouted and slid into the most heart wrenching puppy dog stare until Harry was grabbing his coat and grumbling all the way down the stairs.

*

Harry sat in the waiting room of Pon Klai, feeling horribly out of place. The parlor was posh, and everything looked so _expensive_ , and Harry felt like his business suit and unruly hair stuck out like a sore thumb in comparison to the granite pillars that lined the hallways to the rooms. He kept his mind off his insecurities by eye-fucking the receptionist a few feet away. The receptionist had this beautiful jet black hair and his eyes were toffee settled in warm honey, set above high cheek bones and a full pink mouth. The name card read _Malik_ , and Harry licked his lips at how fucking _exotic_ he was. Maybe this trip wasn't such a waste of time after all. If Harry got to just _look_ at Malik for the rest of the afternoon, the younger would consider it a productive day. The man was just as beautiful and elegant as the parlor itself, but from the looks of his sultry expression, _Malik_ was definitely eye-fucking Harry right back.

After a few minutes of prolonged eye contact and flirtatious smiles, Malik pressed a slender finger to the sleek, silver earpiece- something like a Bluetooth, Harry thought- and nodded to himself. After another moment of listening, Malik gestured to Harry and murmured, “Yogi Tomlinson will see you now.”

*

Harry followed Malik down a winding corridor. The champagne colored walls were adorned with these new-age art pieces that Harry didn’t really understand and they had just passed a modern art sculpture of a woman with a foot where her nose was supposed to be when Malik halted in from a large arching door that read “1D.”

The receptionist unlocked the door and ushered the young businessman inside without another word.

“You can put your clothes in that cubby,” Malik said, gesturing helpfully. “Ring if you need anything, but other than that, Yogi Tomlinson will be in momentarily.” With another smirk, Malik disappeared, and Harry stood still as he listened to the lock turn as Malik hung the card “Do Not Disturb.”

The room was filled with scented candles, something Harry usually thought was too much, but at the moment, he figured they added to the “mood.” The candles emitted a warm glow onto more elegantly colored walls, and the carpet underfoot was white and fluffy and Harry felt like he was walking on clouds. A raspy male voice crooned from some hidden speaker and Harry nodded approvingly before stripping down to his underwear and putting his clothes into the cubby. After another moment, Harry shucked off his boxers too, because _what the hell_ he might as well be comfortable

He had just slid underneath the towel when Yogi Tomlinson finally made his appearance.  
And, damn.

Harry had been expecting an old man who had white hair and a long beard and age spots. He’d been expecting wrinkles, and stooped posture, and a dry voice that creaked with age; something that correlated with all the experience that the masseur was supposed to have... anything but _this_.

Because Harry wasn’t expecting a person only a few years older than himself. He wasn’t expecting a _delectable_ man dressed all in white like an angel with blue eyes that sparkled in the low candle light. He wasn’t expecting someone with “an ass so fine” that Harry immediately thought of what it would feel like to be pistoned between those swells of inviting flesh, and he certainly hadn’t thought about how he was going to deal with this walking _sex god_ catering to his every need for the next hour.

Hell, the pants alone, tight things that they were, had sent Harry on the treacherous road to a boner, and Harry huffed in annoyance because _fuck_ he was already half hard and the masseur hadn’t even said a word.

“Mr. Styles,” the masseur practically purred in greeting, and Jesus, his voice sounded like velvet soaked in honey, or something equally smooth, and _wow_ , now he couldn’t even form a non- cheesy simile?

Yogi Tomlinson glided- yes _glided_ \- over to the table and Harry shuddered in anticipation. “Where do you hold your tension?”

 _My Penis_ , Harry thought. But instead, he closed his eyes and responded, “’M not sure. To be honest, I didn’t really think I needed a massage, but my assistant seems to think I’m wound up, so here I am.”

“Ah, so you’re one of those who’s in denial about how stressed they are. The worst kind,” Louis tutted without malice.

Harry boiled with weak righteous indignation, “Well, excuse me then-“

“Relax, love. By the time I’m through with you, you’ll feel like a new person.”

Harry felt another shudder rack through his body because one, he had a total thing for pet names, and two Harry’s dick was just a little bit too interested with how Yogi Tomlinson would make him feel like a new person. He settled back on the table and relaxed his body in a subtle invitation for the masseur to get to work. After all, time was ticking.

Harry tensed in anticipation when he heard the familiar flick of a lid being opened and the familiar sound of oil being spread over skin and for a fleeting moment he thought _well damn the masseur is going to fuck me_ , before he felt Yogi Tomlinson’s hands settle at his shoulders.

The masseur’s fingers felt like magic as they worked the knots and kinks from Harry’s skin. The smooth drag of Tomlinson’s oil slicked hands on Harry’s warm back sent pleasure rippling throughout the curly haired boy’s body. His fingers danced over Harry pirouetting up the expanse of Harry’s muscular back with all the grace, sensitivity and elegance of a ballerina and Harry was starting to really relax. His eyes felt heavy and he could feel himself sinking into the plush pallet on the table, his thoughts dancing in the air with the voice of the crooning male singer.

Harry was pleasantly surprised. He understood now why everyone thought this man was the master, because he was. He developed a new appreciation for the masseur, beyond his obvious sexual appeal.

But Harry’s attention was promptly redirected when he became all too aware of Yogi Tomlinson’s hands as they drifted lower down his back. Up until now, the masseur had been working meticulously, coaxing groans of approval from his client, and occasionally asking, “How does that feel?” But now his fingers had begun to circle dangerously close to the edge of the towel, dipping in and out of the dimples at the base of Harry’s spine.

“Let me know if I’m getting too low,” the masseur whispered, and Harry’s eyebrows shot up, because _wow_ Yogi Tomlinson sounded kind of wrecked.  
Harry had a full on erection now, and it was throbbed painfully from where it was trapped between his body and the table. He rumbled in response and willed himself not to buck into the table.

The masseur began to move the towel down, and as Harry felt a slight breeze graze the top of his bum, he heard the masseur gasp in surprise. Right, he wasn’t wearing any boxers- he supposed he should have given some warning. Not that it mattered, because Yogi Tomlinson quickly regained his composure and began kneading the flesh in the juncture of the base of Harry’s spine and the swells of flesh immediately below.

Yogi Tomlinson kept moving the towel lower, just inching it really, and Harry was getting impatient. Hell, if he was going to massage him, why not just get to it? The towel was tickling the sensitive skin on Harry’s bum and the backs of his legs, and he felt like the masseuse was prolonging the inevitable.

Before he could stop himself, Harry blurted out, “Just take it off.” When the masseur hands froze, Harry amended weakly, “i-it’d just be more liberating.”

“Of course, Mr. Styles,” Yogi Tomlinson replied coolly, and Harry thinks the masseur saw straight through his excuse.

“Call me Harry. Please.”

“Okay, Harry.”

Then the masseur whipped off the small towel and now Harry was now completely naked on the table, half of him glistening in massage oil in the dim candlelight. Harry could have sworn he heard the masseur’s breath hitch, and when his hands came back down on Harry’s skin, Harry could feel them trembling. So maybe Harry wasn’t the only one who could feel the sexual tension swirling in the massage room. Maybe Harry wasn’t the only one who felt the spark, the connection, the electrifying sensuality in the air, and Harry felt a bit better because of it.

The masseur squirted more warm oil onto his hands and gingerly cupped Harry’s ass. Harry tensed briefly, but forced himself to relax, and he hoped the Yogi Tomlinson didn’t feel him buck back into his touch. He rumbled from deep in his throat as the masseur’s hands began ghosting his bare thighs, the light brushing of his hands created a delicious friction with his peach fuzz. The warmth from his palms as they slid over his bum, down his thighs to his feet, sent involuntary shudders throughout Harry’s body, and he couldn’t stop the appreciative moan that tore from his throat because _wow_ , he just couldn’t believe how good this was.

His boner was pinned uncomfortably beneath him, and with Yogi Tomlinson’s hands running up and down his body, Harry needed to adjust himself.

He opted for subtlety, but of course that never works. Because just as the masseur’s hands ran over his bum, Harry tried to shift his body so that his erection wouldn’t kill him- and as he moved, Yogi Tomlinson’s hands dipped into Harry’s crevice and brushed his most forbidden part.

Harry couldn’t stop the traitorous whimper that tore from his throat as the masseur’s slick finger’s grazed him, and for that moment, Harry was so overwhelmed by the intense pleasure that surged through him in his crazed arousal, that he did not feel the masseur freeze above him.

“H-Harry?” It was only when Yogi Tomlinson’s unsure voice that sliced through Harry’s torturous pleasure that Harry remembered where he was, and immediately flushed with humiliation.

“I-I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t meant to-“

“No, no it’s alright. I- I rather liked it actually,” and _fuck_ a why did Harry just say that? Why is he embarrassing himself further? He didn’t even know if the masseur was even gay (and it’s wrong to judge based on how tight someone’s pants are), he didn’t know if the masseur was interested, and he sure as hell didn’t know where all of this forwardness was coming from. Harry knew it had been a while since he had been laid, but was he really going to grasp that desperately at what was clearly just a misplaced hand?

He expected the masseur to recoil in disgust, he expected him to kick Harry off the table or call him a pervert.

What he didn’t expect was for the masseur to exhale breathlessly, and he certainly didn’t expect for Yogi Tomlinson to _squeeze_ Harry’s bum while he paused thoughtfully.

“You liked it?”

Harry’s voice got caught in his throat because his mind was getting ahead of him again, and _was this going to go where he thought this was going to go?_

Yogi Tomlinson ran his hands up and down Harry’s back again, and Harry moaned softly because he didn’t think he’d ever get used to how great that felt.

“Harry? Did you really like it, love?”

Harry shuddered as Yogi Tomlinson’s hot breath washed over the nape of his neck. His erection throbbed painfully.

“Y-yes Yogi Tomlinson,” Harry gasped as the masseur squeezed his bum again.

“Call me Louis, love. Yogi Tomlinson, is a bit of a mouthful to yell out- if this leads where I think you want it to.”

And then Harry’s eyes snapped open, because _fuck_ , he was right, Louis was going to fuck the stress out of him. Another groan tore itself from Harry’s throat- and really, he’s never been this vocal before- but fuck, he needed this- whatever this was-, like now.

“Please, Louis,” Harry begged, and he didn’t know what he was asking for, but he needed Louis to do something now. Louis chuckled slowly and pushed his finger back down between the swells of Harry’s bum and began to trace the ring of muscle at a tortuously slow pace. Harry moaned, a real moan without restrain, and tried to buck back into Louis’ touch, only to groan in frustration when Louis lessened the pressure until Harry relaxed.

“I like the way you say my name,” Louis murmured quietly.

Then the masseur leaned forward so that his lips curved around Harry’s ear before whispering, “Here at _Pon Klai_ , our client’s pleasure is our top priority. How do you want me to pleasure _you_ , love?”

And Harry thought, _to hell with it_ because at this point, he was so turned on that he couldn’t think straight. “Oh God, Louis, just touch me, please,” Harry gasped as he rocked between Louis’ finger and rubbing his erection into the table.

“I _have_ been touching you, Harry. Is that all you want me to do?” And _fuck_ , Harry thought impatiently, when did his masseur turn into such a little tease?

So Harry thought if that Louis wanted to play dirty, he’d play dirty. “Fuck me, Lou” Harry growled. “I want you to fuck me.”

Harry felt Louis’ smirk against his ears before he was flipped over so fast that his erection slapped his stomach painfully. The younger only had a moment to register the lustful gleam in Louis’ eyes and his clearly tented white trousers before Louis was kneeling in front of him and kissing a soft, slow trail down Harry’s chest. Harry writhed and groaned under Louis attention, and he keened each time he felt the Louis mouth get closer and closer to his aching cock.

Before Harry knew it, Louis head was between Harry’s legs, nipping at the warm flesh of his thighs. Harry gasped and arched sharply as Louis teeth sunk into the sensitive skin. And then for a moment everything went dark and Harry’s vision spotted because Louis’ head dipped between his legs again, and then in one swallow, Harry’s cock disappeared between Louis’ obscenely plump lips. Harry was breathless, gasping, and all he could feel was the _heat;_ the sweet, torturous, hot suction, and he couldn't quite breathe. Louis gripped Harry’s quaking thighs, using them for leverage as his tongue swirled around the younger’s length, flickering along the slit before pressing flat against the vein underneath, sucking and licking until the last of his barriers crumbled away and Harry’s most pornographic moans filled the room.

And just when Harry thought it couldn’t get any better, Louis thrust a thick finger into his tight heat, and Harry was seeing stars. It had been so long since someone else had been inside him. 

]“Oh God. Feels so good, Lou.” 

“Does it, babe” Lou chuckled. 

“S-shit, Lou, your fingers. Thick as shit, I love your fingers.” 

Louis groaned in response, and came up to bury his face in Harry’s neck and mouthing at the sweaty skin there. He rewarded Harry by crooking his fingers and brushing the spot inside that made him wild. But Harry needed more, he wanted to be stretched, he needed Louis to fill him up. 

“Please Lou- I need more-” 

As if anticipating Harry’s needs, Louis forcefully pushed a second finger in, and Harry cried out at the intrusion. Louis was scissoring his fingers relentlessly, and Harry could feel himself tightening around Louis’ fingers, and he didn’t know how much longer he would last. 

“Your cock, Lou, I need your cock, please” Harry gasped. He knew he was begging, but he was too far gone to be ashamed. He needed to fucked. Right. Now. 

“God, look at you Harry, begging for my dick. I’m going to fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to think about anyone but me for days, I’m going to make you scream so loud that everyone in this building will know what a little slut you are for a stranger’s cock.” 

“Oh, fuck Lou. Please” Harry whined. 

It seemed that for the moment, Louis was finished teasing Harry, and the younger watched hungrily as Louis drizzled more massage oil onto his dick before positioning himself at Harry’s entrance. 

“You ready, love?” Lou purred again, as if he hadn’t been talking absolute filth moments before. 

Harry didn’t trust his voice, and only nodded curtly before Louis slowly slid in. Harry could feel every inch of Louis pressing against him, he could feel the vibrating, thick drag of Louis’ cock inside him, and as they joined together, the heat seemed intense, so intense that they were fusing together and becoming one. 

“Fuck,” Louis whispered, eyes screwed shut. It was the first time throughout the entire session that Harry saw the masseuse lose control, and he loved it. “You’re so tight, Harry. God, you feel like a virgin.” 

“Well, ‘m not,” Harry grumbled. 

Louis opened his eyes to chuckle at Harry’s petulance, and stroked his hands up and down Harry’s sides as if willing him to relax. “Are you okay, baby,” Louis asked quietly, and Harry could feel him shaking with control as he fought not to plunge back into Harry again. The client took pity on Louis- he wasn’t quite ready, but he needed this, and he knew Louis needed it too. 

Louis leaned forward and brushed his lips to Harry’s, asking softly, “Are you ready?” Harry would usually think it was a tender gesture but he had long grown tired of Louis eternal patience. Their lips hadn’t parted, but Harry murmured impatiently against them, “Just fuck me.” 

Harry watched in fascination as Louis sparkling eyes smoldered to black with lust, and with a growl, Louis plunged again into Harry, not stopping until he felt the swell of Harry’s slick buttocks. A guttural cry tore from Harry’s throat and he sat straight up and clung to Louis for dear life as pain and pleasure eclipsed all other sensations. 

“Holy fuck, shit, you’re so tight Harry,” Louis gasped as he thrust slowly into him, allowing him to get use to the intrusion. 

But Harry was tired of going slow. He wanted the burn. He wanted it to sting. He needed Louis to fuck into him. Now. 

“ _Faster_ ”, Harry growled. Louis perked at Harry’s tone, and with a matching snarl, he pulled out again, and slammed back in so hard into Harry that the table shook. Harry cried out again in triumphant pleasure, “Oh please, just like that Lou!” 

Louis sped up, fucking into Harry with abandon, until their bodies were slick with sweat, the table rocked, and the sound of skin slapping against skin was deafening. Louis legs were strained in muscular tension and Harry relished the sounds of his broken pants and the determined set of his brow. Harry’s cock was slapping against his stomach, smearing pre-cum over his abs, but Harry didn’t even feel tempted to touch it. Louis felt too good. 

“So, tight. So hot. So good,” Louis panted. The sweat was dripping down his body, down his neck, in and out of his collarbones, down the toned expanse of chest and abs. Harry wanted to taste him. 

And then Louis hit that angle that made Harry see stars. He felt so good that it was deafening, and for a moment, all Harry could do was _feel_. He felt the rough drag of Louis inside him. He felt Louis hands raking up and down his chest, he felt Louis mouthing along his neck, he felt the painfully pleasurable sting of Louis’ legs slapping his sore bottom. 

Harry’s senses were on overload, and judging by the erraticism in Louis thrusts, the masseur was close too. 

“F-fuck, Lou, I’m close.” 

“Shit, me too love,” Louis gasped. “You feel so good around me. So good. So tight.” 

Harry clenched his walls around Louis in response, and the masseur all but screamed in pleasure. “Fuck Harry, you feel a-amazing” Louis panted, thrusting harder, faster, rougher. 

Harry wasn’t going to last. He couldn’t. Not when Louis was moving like _this_ , not when Louis felt like _that_. 

“F-fuck, Lou, I’m com-“ Harry gasped. Then there was a flash, a moment of white hot ecstasy, and Harry was blinded by the intensity of his orgasm as it washed over him, flooding his senses. Somewhere in the distance he heard a scream, and he realized belatedly that it was his own, but he was too far gone to care. His climax racked his body in belated shivers so that he was physically contorting and arching as euphoria unraveled his very being, stripes of his essence painting his chest. He faintly registered the warm feel of Louis pulsing inside of him as the masseur came, and in that moment, Harry was at peace. 

_*_

Harry came down from his high moments later, but he was still moving in a fog. He vaguely registered Louis wiping off his stomach and in between his legs. The masseur was murmuring sweet nothings,- “You took it so well baby, took it like a champ”- but Harry didn’t trust himself to speak. 

It was only when Louis planted a soft kiss on his sweaty brow did Harry’s floating train of thought find gravity. Harry smiled weakly, he still felt like his limbs were jelly and his muscles heavy. “Thanks,” he murmured finally, because honestly, he didn’t think he’d ever been this relaxed before in his life. 

Louis chuckled quietly and kissed Harry again. “Well, Mr. Styles, I do believe I’ve found where you hold your tension." 

**Author's Note:**

> *sequel coming soon!


End file.
